


Bright, and Hopeful, and Seen

by onionrings_andhoneymustard



Category: 9-1-1 (TV), 9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mild Language, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23761228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onionrings_andhoneymustard/pseuds/onionrings_andhoneymustard
Summary: T.K. says, “I didn’t catch your name.”“It’s Evan.”“Evan,” T.K. echoes, letting the name slide over his tongue.  It tastes delicious, like strawberry ice cream on the first day of spring.  He holds out his hand.  “I’m T.K.”Evan takes the hand, giving it a firm shake.  “Nice to meet you, T.K.”“Likewise.”And that’s how it begins.-----Something of a canon-divergent head canon, where Buck and T.K. meet and date and have a whole thing prior to the beginning the established 9-1-1 timelines.  A little rushed and a little disjointed.I did minor research into the Navy SEAL program, joining LAFD, and joining NYFD ... whether that's evident remains to be seen.  I also did some minor research into T.K.'s oxy addiction and then decided to forget everything when it came to writing it, so.
Relationships: TK Strand & Evan "Buck" Buckley, TK Strand/Evan "Buck" Buckley
Comments: 18
Kudos: 264





	Bright, and Hopeful, and Seen

T.K.’s drunk. He’s vaguely aware of it as he stirs the leftover ice in his glass with the cocktail straw and debates if it’s too soon to order another. He’s leaning toward, _Yes, wait a little while longer._ when there’s a shift change and the new bartender approaches him with a smile that T.K. wants to wrap around himself like a blanket and asks, “Another one?”

He mentally tears up his plan to wait without a second thought. “Yeah. Yeah,” he repeats, “Midori Sour. Please. I have a tab open, under Strand.”

“Sure thing. You got it.” The bartender takes the empty glass from in front of T.K., moving a little down the bar to mix the fresh drink. T.K. watches in silent appreciation. The bartender is tall, fit, and blonde. They’ve just met, but as his eyes travel the man’s arms, T.K. already knows he wants him.

When the bright green drink is set down in front of him, T.K. says a quick thank you and, “I didn’t catch your name.”

“It’s Evan.”

“Evan,” T.K. echoes, letting the name slide over his tongue. It tastes delicious, like strawberry ice cream on the first day of spring. He holds out his hand. “I’m T.K.”

Evan takes the hand, giving it a firm shake. “Nice to meet you, T.K.”

“Likewise.”

And that’s how it begins.

\-----

T.K. shows up most nights that Evan works, usually with friends in tow. They play pool and order food from the kitchen, and T.K. flirts harder than he can ever remember flirting in his entire life. It would be embarrassing, if Evan didn’t buy him a drink every couple shifts or call him _Tyler Kennedy_ in a way that makes T.K. feel unexplainably bright, and hopeful, and _seen_.

Usually he leaves around one AM, closing out his tab and casting one last glance at the bar before his friends drag him out the door. It’s a Saturday night—bleeding into a Sunday morning—when Evan says, “Why don’t you stay ‘til close? We can get breakfast and talk.” and T.K. agrees with a smile.

It’s a quarter after four when Evan joins T.K. outside the bar, leading him to a diner tucked in between a pawn shop and a bodega. They order decaf coffee, toast and eggs sunny-side-up, and talk about almost nothing until the food’s gone.

“So, look,” Evan says, crumpling a napkin in his palm and leaning back in the booth seat. “I’ve never … done this before.”

“Never done what?” T.K. wonders, though he reckons he already knows by the way Evan’s face has gone carefully blank as he seems to study the crumbs on his plate for the meaning of life.

Evan flexes his fingers, letting the napkin fall on the formica. “Been with a guy.”

“I won’t hold it against you if there’s a learning curve. We all have to start somewhere.”

“I’ve had sex,” Evan says quietly, shifting in his seat and leaning forward, arms on the table. “Just not with a guy. I’ve never done any of that … stuff.” He waves a hand vaguely.

“We don’t have to, either,” T.K. offers.

“I want to. I just, you know…” Evan takes a slow, deep breath and looks up. “I wanted you to have the full picture before I invite you back to my place.”

“Okay. I’m still interested.”

The smile Evan gives him is different than any of the ones T.K. has seen before. Deeper and sweeter and _special_. Evan slides out of the booth, fishing enough bills out of his wallet to pay the tab and setting them under the sugar shaker. “Shall we?” he asks, holding a hand out for T.K. T.K. takes it, and doesn’t let go the entire walk to Evan’s apartment.

\-----

There’s a lot of kissing. Evan’s comfortable with kissing and while T.K. desperately wants to fuck, he’s dead set against rushing things. Besides, T.K.’s always been able to get lost in kissing, closing his eyes and anchoring himself with the way Evan’s thumb feels pressed against his cheek.

When they do get to the sex, it’s good. Sure, it’s a little more awkward and messy and clumsy than he’s used to. And Evan freaks out (just a little bit) somewhere in the middle about making sure T.K. gets off and the timing of thrusts and _does this hurt? does this feel good for you?_ But still, it’s good.

It’s good enough they do it again and again and again—in fact, hardly a day goes by where T.K. isn’t in Evan’s bed. It would be exhausting, if it wasn’t so fun. T.K. can’t remember ever dating someone who wanted him as much as Evan so clearly does, and it’s an ego boost T.K. hadn’t known he needed.

T.K. doesn’t expect whatever they are to last past the summer. It feels like a fling; it’s fun and casual and sweet, like cotton candy. But then Evan goes with him to buy his textbooks for fall term and things shift between them, just a little.

\-----

“What are you going to do when you graduate?” Evan asks on a Tuesday in November. He’s dicing a yellow onion while T.K. browns ground beef in a pan at the stove.

T.K. shrugs. “I don’t know. Something to do with business, I guess. Business degree and all that.”

“Business, huh? Has that always been your dream?”

T.K. huffs out a laugh, tapping the edge of the wooden spoon against the pan before setting it on the spoon rest. Turning around, he steps to the side and leans against the counter. “No. My dream was to be a firefighter, like my dad.”

“Yeah? Why don’t you do that instead?”

T.K.’s smiles doesn’t reach his eyes. “Evan. I wouldn’t pass the drug test. Those pills I take aren’t exactly prescription.” It’s not the first time the pills have come up in conversation, but it’s the first time T.K. has explicitly stated he uses them recreationally.

“You could always stop taking them,” Evan suggests, using the back of the knife to push the onion into a mound on the cutting board. There’s a faint tension in the air between them.

“Nah. That’s no fun.” T.K. glances at the stove, turning down the heat before crossing the small space until he’s standing beside Evan, hooking a finger through a belt loop and pulling to turn him so they’re facing each other. “And I’m a fun addict.”

“Is that so?”

Stepping closer, T.K. presses their lips together. “It’s so.”

\-----

Evan can usually tell when T.K. is high. There’s part of it that bothers him, sticks under the surface of his skin like an invisible sliver. He isn’t sure _why_ it bothers him, since it doesn’t turn T.K. into an ugly version of himself, how he’s seen addiction do. T.K. is still smart and sweet and funny, and he goes to class and work. If the pills were really a problem, Evan reasons, this wouldn’t be the case. So, he keeps any concerns to himself.

\-----

They pass through winter and spring, and Evan’s there when T.K. crosses the stage at graduation. It’s a beautiful day.

\-----

When T.K. overdoses at a rooftop party on the Fourth of July, Evan’s the one who calls the ambulance and rides with him to Mount Sinai West. T.K. is vaguely embarrassed as he lies in the hospital bed, guilt wrapping itself around his insides like ribbon with frayed edges.

It’s the first time in a year that he can remember seeing Evan afraid, jaw clicked tightly shut and eyes wide. He hates knowing he’s the cause of it. That feeling—more than anything—has him agreeing to his father’s demand that he leave for a rehab facility as soon as he’s released from the hospital.

\-----

T.K. hates almost every minute of it, at least for the first thirty days. Detox hurts and he’s tired and his body aches and his brain feels somehow full of wool and sharply clear all at once, and most of all he misses Evan.

The first time they speak since he’s entered rehab, Evan says, “I’m really proud of you.” with a loving sincerity that steals away his words; all T.K. can do is hold the plastic phone receiver with both hands and cry. 

T.K. is still in rehab when Evan leaves New York for Illinois, citing a desire to become a Navy SEAL. A desire to curb the feeling inside of him that he’s floating untethered above the world. As much as T.K. wants Evan to be there when he gets out, he can’t find it within himself to ask Evan to not go.

\-----

Evan doesn’t end up becoming a Navy SEAL. He doesn’t talk much about why when he tells T.K., adding that he’s leaving Illinois for California because “the West Coast is calling my name.”

Over time, they talk less. It feels natural and bittersweet.

\-----

In July, Evan sends him a text. _happy birthday, tyler kennedy. one year sober, congrats._

T.K. sends him a thank you, followed by _i miss you_

Evan’s, _i miss you, too._ comes less than a minute later.

\-----

They talk sporadically after that. Mostly texting, and some phone calls.

Evan’s on his way to becoming a firefighter for the Los Angeles Fire Department, and T.K. feels like he’s constantly having to adapt to his new and sober life.

In September, Evan sends T.K. a selfie of himself standing in front of a fire engine at station 118 in Los Angeles. _first day on the job! wish me luck!_

 _good luck!_ T.K. sends back before he has to put his phone away and file into the testing room for the FDNY written exam.

\------

Almost a year later, T.K. takes his own selfie in front of an engine at station 252 in New York City. _my turn for a first day_

The response from Evan says, _finally following your dream. good luck, tyler kennedy._

And T.K. feels bright, and hopeful, and seen.


End file.
